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Sign/Countersign
The National Mythic all up in yo' grill
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This will be brief, because it is late and I am tired. Today I took my Oral Exam, which is the final step in the Ph.D. qualifying exam process that has consumed my life for the past several months. I passed, and am now considered a "candidate" whose official status is "A.B.D." The acronym actually stands for "All But Dissertation" and is meant to indicate the level of completion the candidate has achieved regarding their pursuit of the Doctorate. I prefer the unfolded meaning a previous survivor of my acquaintance has employed: All But Destroyed. The good news is that in the short term there is very little that I must do. I must submit my preferences for the dissertation committee, which will be different from the exam committee. I must work up a dissertation prospectus. Both of these mean settling on a subject for my dissertation, which must be done in roughly the next twelve hours. And I must use the prospectus to begin applying for dissertation fellowships, so that I will have money to pay the bills while I actually write said dissertation. I must also continue to teach, so that I can pay the bills I currently owe. All of this nevertheless feels like relatively little after the stress of the last few months, and this weekend I can allow myself to breathe a sigh of relief. No more exams. No more classes. No more studying (now when I study I get to call it "research", hah). The sense of relief I should be feeling is currently held in abeyance, as though I have not yet reached that plateau of belief that will allow me to process the reality that this extremely demanding rite of passage is finally behind me. I look forward to being able to feel what I already know. |
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So this is the 5 things meme where you read this post and comment and I'll tell you 5 of the things I closely associate with you and you take those back to your journal and write about them. Here are the ones I got from ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) grnegsnspm:
Education - I sometimes wonder at what point I decided to make education my career, or if that decision even happened. I've been in school more or less constantly since I was five years old. For the last four years I've been a teacher part-time at the University where I am also a graduate student, and if my official title is Teaching Assistant, the job has really been that of a full-blown lecturer who only has one class.
So education has been a major part of my life - it has shaped my daily schedule, my hopes and plans for the future, and the way I judge the world and the people around me, for good or ill. Most of the people I interact with on a daily basis are in some way tied to the educational system that I am a part of. After such a long immersion in the educational system I've got a lot of intellectual investment in it, and it can be hard for me to set that aside sometimes.
Debate - I love debating with my friends. Sometimes I will engage in spirited arguments with people I'm not close to, but they're not as satisfying - like playing a game of pick-up billiards against a stranger in a bar, where afterward you both walk away and chances are there is little lasting effect on either of you.
With friends, though, it can be something entirely different. Over time and multiple debates you start to understand and appreciate the other person - how they think, what they value, where their unique strengths lie. It's easy to look at such a situation, especially in the heat of the moment, and assume that these two people hate each other, when in fact it can be precisely the opposite - the more I see of how the people around me think, why they do the things they do, their motives, the more precious they become to me. These people are my friends, sparring partners, and allies - throwing myself into the ring with them takes a lot of faith and trust, because by committing myself to the fight I make myself vulnerable. These skirmishes are how we learn to handle the unpleasant challenges other people will throw at us with grace and verve. The purpose isn't to win, it's to make ourselves better, and along the way the jabs and thrusts and cutting remarks - though they might bleed at first - carve us up into a more refined version of ourselves. For me, it can be an intimate thing.
Theory Crafting - I love games. Playing them, certainly, but good games are games where you can start pulling the pieces apart and looking at how they fit together, and there is a part of me that takes an incredible, childlike glee in deconstructing these games and finding out what the governing principles are. I always found puzzles boring because the pieces could only fit together one way, and that way was predetermined. But good games - the ones that aren't just superficial, the best ones - have permutations and intricacies that are a delight to discover. Playing is fun, of course, but the thrill of learning how the game works is a joy all its own.
Great games also have rules that keep things balanced; they don't grant undue advantage to one side or another, though they will often allow skilled players to exploit subtle nuances to gain advantages over less-skilled players during the game. Look at chess - the two sides are so perfectly balanced that even the best grandmasters can't agree on whether or not White actually has an advantage, but sit down a highly-ranked player across from an amateur and the former will win every time. That balance is what keep people playing it after hundreds of years - it encourages the development of skill, rather than simply handing victory over on a roll of the dice. Not every game is like chess, of course, and that's a good thing - the variety is what keeps us interested. But even those games where chance is a factor will, in the long run, subordinate it to the development of skill by placing players on equal footing to begin.
Snark - We all have defense mechanisms - habits that we have developed to protect and insulate ourselves from things that frighten us. What we call snark, other people might call being an asshole. My snark grows out of my own insecurities - words are weapons, I learned at a very young age, and knowing how to wield them can be a means of protection. A well-placed jibe can drive an otherwise threatening person away in confusion or disgust or anger, and a well-phrased burn can earn you respect and acceptance among people who otherwise wouldn't give you the time of day. The Platonic Dialogues and similar tracts discuss the ways in which speech can be perceived sometimes as almost magical, and the best orators wizards who can manipulate the thoughts and feelings of their audiences to an uncanny degree.
I think I learned to use words well because I felt their bite more keenly than others and craved a means of guarding myself. Somewhere along the way I began to take pride in my ability to turn "mere words" into devastating assaults (maybe because there were times when words were all I had), and there have been times when I've let that pride goad me into saying things that have inflicted very real hurts on people around me, including people I love. As I've grown older and hopefully a little wiser, I've found myself more reluctant to use those words for fear that one of these days I will inflict a hurt bad enough to drive away the people I wish to keep close. What I allow myself - what comes out each day - is the snark, witticisms of a lower and less dangerous caliber. My friends know this and recognize it and let it be, and for that I am immeasurably grateful, and when sometimes a remark comes out with a bit too much force and too sharp an edge, they're good enough to point it out to me. I shrink inside when this happens, and wonder if this is something I know how to live without.
Reserved - For a person who makes his living standing in front of a classroom full of strangers and lecturing for an hour or more at a time, reserve would seem to be a non-issue. I'm not as reserved as I used to be. Which isn't saying much, since there were probably people in high school that I saw every day who I never gave more than a half dozen words to over four whole years. I'm still slow to trust, slow to open up, and slow to accept changes in my life - particularly when those changes take the form of people. Part of this is upbringing (growing up, my family was separated from our relatives and my parents rarely had friends visit), and part of it is temperament - I'm not an outgoing person by nature, and my interests and passions are largely those of an introverted personality. Some things-in-the-form-of-people have come into my life in the last few years that have encouraged me to take more risks. I treasure them for that, and I like to think that the result is a better person. Change is hard enough for me to achieve with help, excruciating without it. Even writing this would have been impossible not that long ago. It's a constant struggle - a lifetime of reserve has made it all too easy to let the old defenses spring up and wall out the world. Part of me still finds it an attractive option. But the rest of me doesn't want to go back, so I keep trying. Even when it hurts. |
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Recently the English department at my university lost a member. It wasn't the first time - in fact, for the past few years it seems as though our department has been flying its flag at half mast far too often. But this one was especially jarring not only for how unexpected it was, but also how irreplaceable Professor Elliot really was. If I can be half as brilliant and half as alive as he was at 66, I'll consider myself luckier than I deserve. So when I read this evening that the academic community at large has lost another titan, it shook me up a bit. Not because Ms. Sedgwick was a favorite of mine - I remember staring angrily at her impenetrable theory and begrudging the time spent on it that I could be spending on stuff that I, personally, found more interesting. But the fact is, she did more to raise awareness and advance the level of discourse in queer and gender theory than perhaps anyone else in living memory, and she shined a bright light on the cultural subtexts that riddle our media-drenched world. Especially now, we needed her and people like her. This should be a reminder that we cannot take such remarkable individuals for granted. They break trail for the rest of us. They point the way.
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You tell 'em, Sarah. I bet Joltin' Joe won't have an answer for that! |
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My new cellphone is charging in the other room. Yes, I have finally caved and am joining the rest of the American populace in the 21st century. I'm through AT&T/Cingular, which is handy since AT&T also provides my internet and land-line services, so I get it all on one bill (and unlike Verizon, I don't have to pay extra to see itemized activity). I'm going to give the mobile a month or two so that I can determine my usage and whatnot, and then I will very likely terminate the apartment phone and go purely cellular. I have to admit that even though I have yet to make a call on it, I am very impressed by my new gadget. It is gunmetal gray and when I flip it open the keypad goes luminescent, as if poised and eager to respond. The slimness of the RAZR design is appealing even to an avowed technophobe. Chances are that I'll never use even half the features that a 3G phone offers, but that's beside the point. I has a shiny new toy, and I'm not so old and soulless yet as to have outgrown the fun of showing it off. |
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For those of you who were familiar with the hairless ape until recently known as Brian, I am addressing this note to posterity. I feel that in light of recent events, and given the tenuous state of any interim social structures that may arise out of the decaying ash-heap that once was human society, it is necessary to set the record straight. At approximately 9:31pm tonight I witnessed my jailor unlock the door to our mutual abode and gaze blearily outside. I assume his interest was roused by the sirens, as he had shown no signs over the last several hours of being in the slightest bit aware of the ongoing apocalypse. This despite the clearly audible noises of an encroaching zombie horde. After a few moments he shut the door and returned to his accustomed position at the computer, apparently satisfied that nothing unusual was afoot. Before any of you see fit to remonstrate with me for not informing him of the danger, might I remind you that this individual has been responsible for my unwilling incarceration. Being also aware that zombies, having little interest in those of my species, would be inclined to leave me in peace, as well as the fact that in spite of his ostensible talents in the linguistic sciences, my cohabitant had heretofore demonstrated no aptitude for the subtleties of feline vocalization, I opted to keep my own counsel. Let history be my judge. Some twenty minutes later I was awakened from a particularly agreeable nap by the sound of breaking glass and, being well acquainted with the better part of valor, relocated my person to an unobtrusive spot behind the dining room table. After taking stock of the situation I witnessed an especially dapper example of the walking dead pull himself in through the window to the obvious astonishment of my self-appointed owner. After regarding the sleep-deprived doctoral aspirant for a few moments and giving him a cursory inspection and sniff, the zombie paused to adjust his coat sleeve and then, apparently satisfied that the only human inhabitant of this residence had long since ceased to bear any signs of life, exited the front door. Unfortunately for Brian, the event proved too much for a constitution unduly strained by excessive caffeine and prolonged exposure to Romantic literary criticism, and his physical and psychological health not ordinarily being of particularly sturdy stuff, he expired on the spot. I therefore leave this record for those survivors who may find it as evidence that I am not entirely ungrateful for the meager kindnesses that were afforded me whilst under the rule of this human, and as testament that his person remains as yet uninfected and therefore fit for a dignified disposal. I believe that his wish was to be neatly cremated and his ashes put to some productive use, though to be quite honest I have little interest in the matter any longer. Having been presented with an opportunity for freedom I intend to take advantage of it forthwith. To those who yet live, I offer my congratulations, though I do not believe I will be involving myself in your social experiments any longer, as prisoner, plaything, or pet. Signed, Titian Erasmus-Diderot ...formerly known as Max. |
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It's 10:00 am and I'm walking across the grassy sunlit commons of a Southern California University sipping coffee and munching on a danish. I'll spend the next few hours discussing the works of Blake and Faulkner with like-minded folks, only taking breaks to have lunch and maybe to visit the local Starbucks for a refill. I can't help but grin. Sometimes I really love my life. |
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I don't do resolutions. Which makes me no different than other people I know, except for one thing:
I really don't do resolutions, and you're not gonna find any here. |
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That's seven terms survived of graduate study. Makes me wonder how much longer I'm going to keep doing this to myself. In other news, I have reactivated my WoW account, meaning that I just recovered my life from study only to sacrifice it to an equally heartless god. But first, sleep.
Current Mood: |
 exhausted | |
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Finals week update: Essay 1 written and submitted, exams finished, final grades turned in, fees paid, 10/15 pages of essay 2 written and I have all night ahead of me. Smart money says my prose begins to break down somewhere around 3:30 am. But it's okay. I am the walrus.
Current Mood: |
 wired |
Current Music: |
The Martin Best Medieval Ensemble, "Thys Yool" | |
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Written: sixteen pages on ubiquitous computing, sans intro, conclusion, or biblio. To write: another 15-20 on the rhetoric of Mlle. de Scudery due on Friday. In five hours: wake up so that I can proctor 93 freshman taking a standardized composition exam, followed by a full day of norming and grading said exams. Still to do: read final essays and compile grade spreadsheet for my own class of twenty. Heartbeat possibly erratic from excess of caffeine. Dear god I hate finals week.
Current Mood: |
 twitching uncontrollably |
Current Music: |
Evanescence, "Lithium" | |
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As the tale goes, Hemingway once wrote a story that was only six words long ("For sale: baby shoes, never worn."). He allegedly called it his best work. Someone at Wired thought this was terribly clever and decided to make something of it. http://wired.com/wired/archive/14.11/sixwords.html Interesting idea. Most of all, I think, because it goes to the heart of what good storytelling is about. Of the many entries listed in the article, the two that stood out the most to me were by Richard K. Morgan ("K.I.A. Baghdad, Aged 18 - Closed Casket") and Orson Scott Card ("I saw, darling, but do lie"). I could talk about why I think these, along with Hemingway's original, are a cut above the rest. But I won't. Instead, here's a challenge to my fList, and anyone else who happens to wander by: write your own story. Right here. Try to keep it to eight words or less. It doesn't have to be baby shoes, but try your best. Because it's my game, I'll go first: "To call: office, mortuary, pound." |
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"If we knew what it was we were doing, it would not be called research, would it?" - Albert Einstein http://www.nzherald.co.nz/topic/story.cfm?c_id=325&objectid=10400645 But it's okay! Dr. Brian Cox of Manchester University estimates the possibility of accidentally destroying the planet as extremely low. Let's repeat that: They estimate the possibility of accidentally destroying the planet as extremely low! |
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Fourteen days of doing nothing was almost enough to unwind. The nine-hour drive back home was no fun, but I think I'm up to another year of life. Aaand...exhale.
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exhausted | |
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I'm gone for the next two weeks on vacation to the lovely Sierra Nevadas. Try not to roast alive while I'm gone! |
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I just got back from seeing M. Night Shyamalan's latest movie at the theater. I'm not quite sure what to say about it. I liked it, but now I know why the marketing folks had such a hard time deciding how to handle it. Classical fairy tales haven't historically done well at the box office unless they're sanitized and animated by Disney. Lady In The Water is Shyamalan's modern take on fairy tales in the original Brothers Grimm sense. Instead of a rural hamlet in France it's a small apartment complex in Philidelphia, but the parallels are there. There's a hero and a heroine, a monster (and quite a creepy one at that), and a healthy dose of natural magic. Most importantly, of course, there are the seemingly arbitrary laws that govern the interactions between the mundane world and the sublime (referred to as "the Blue World"). As someone who's studied fairy tales - the old ones - I found myself delighted at how faithful Shyamalan is to the basic principles of storytelling that underly them. It's lovingly crafted, but I'm worried. The film is special because it's a serious cinematic attempt to tell the kind of story that most people stopped hearing (or wanting to hear) when they were seven or eight and "got too old to hear silly stories like that". It requires a kind of imagining that I think isn't in vogue among adults these days, and many parents will hear that it's too scary to take their little kids to. Which might be true, but doesn't make it any different than Hansel and Gretel or Red Riding Hood. At least the skrunt just wants to kill you rather than kill and eat you. But I don't think it'll do well at the box office. Which is a shame, because what Shyamalan is doing here hasn't been done before. If you do decide to see it (and I think you should), leave your adult sensibilities behind. Just watch and listen. |
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I escaped from the Dungeon of Lottelita!I killed Gatopreto the nymph, Tedit the gelatinous cube, Hello Twyla the troll, Jsposito the leprechaun, Benjiesque the rat, Wrayb the kobold, Mechaieh the floating eye, Rockin Ringer the gelatinous cube, Chancie8 the nymph, Toyin the goblin, Punslinger the kobold, Salmon Pink the minotaur, Girlupnorth the dragon, Nerdanel 50 the rat, Darkteddybear the floating eye and Scrabax0 the arch-demon. I looted a Figurine of Gtshuya, the Sword of Abyrneseyeview, the Axe of Jeopardy, the Wand of Mayhap, the Armour of Aerdna, the Dagger of Gjunell, the Dagger of Captain Tulip, the Wand of Politics, a Figurine of Magna Maxima, a Figurine of Mcmayhem, the Axe of Foehelm, the Armour of Obelletto, the Amulet of Charity and 268 gold pieces. Score: 443 Explore the Dungeon of Lottelita and try to beat this score, or enter your username to generate and explore your own dungeon... Lotte's dungeon is scary and complicated. Much like she is. |
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I escaped from the Dungeon of Teflonshugenja!I killed Theironjef the rat and Unblog the owlbear. I looted the Dagger of Video Games, the Sword of Women, the Armour of Fables, the Armour of Steven King, the Amulet of Firefly, the Amulet of Wuxia, the Wand of Comic Books, the Dagger of Dido, the Wand of Postcolonial Theory, the Armour of Sarah Mclachlan and 24 gold pieces. Score: 74 Explore the Dungeon of Teflonshugenja and try to beat this score, or enter your username to generate and explore your own dungeon... Highlights from my dungeon: - When I read the Scroll of Darkkling, it exploded in a pillar of flame. - Fire-scarred temple with a mosiac of Alan Moore. - Theironjef has 1hp. LOL! - You read the scroll marked 'EXALTED'. You hear the sound of epic fantasy in the distance.- I killed Mike with the Sword of Women. *snicker* |
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